


Long and Lost

by aneverfixedmark



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneverfixedmark/pseuds/aneverfixedmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arobynn Hamel was bored. Bored despite the crumbling kingdom around him. Bored despite the conquering armies slowly seeping throughout the continent. Until he happens upon a half-drowned child on the edge of the Florine River...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long and Lost

Arobynn Hammel was bored. His life was horribly uneventful, despite the chaos erupting around the continent. The royal family was dead, murdered in their sleep; Magic had disappeared; Fae and magic wielders were being hunted and executed even as the King of Assassins rode alongside the Florine river in the frosty morning.  
And yet, Arobynn was bored. Ben was no longer interested in the sport of the hunt, of the kill, as they had so enjoyed in the past. He had “moved past his demons.” Arobynn clenched his teeth whenever Ben said this. He didn’t know how his second, and closest friend, would react to him saying he had no demons - he simply enjoyed the game.

  
It was all a game. A game of chess where he controlled every pawn, knight, and rook on the board - he himself the King and the Queen all rolled into one. Ultimate power, strength, and authority.

  
The pawns were so easy to control. This was a major source of annoyance for Arobynn. He liked the thrill of the challenge. As of now, he had an entire guild hanging on his every word; no one dared challenge him, no one escaped his grasp once he had them in his sights. His assassins idolized him - even the Cortland boy, no more than ten, looked up to him as a father. The thought, of course, was laughable. Arobynn was about as paternal as a viper. Still, the boy’s mother had been… entertaining. And he supposed Sam would make a worthy apprentice - perhaps even an admirable heir to the Assassin’s Guild.  
But still bored.

  
He had ordered his horse readied late in the evening the night before, and had decided to go out for a hunt. He hadn’t told the others he was leaving - he did not answer to them. So he took the stallion to the nearest village, purchased a random scum from the pits, and dragged the worthless creature toward the wood. It was in the cold night air that he had set the thief loose, and had grinned all night as the pathetic thing ran and shouted and cringed as Arobynn descended on him like death itself.

  
Now, body left for the fiercer beasts of the woods and thirst for blood temporarily satiated, Arobynn was to return to his home.

  
Not the home in Rifthold - not yet. There had been clear signs of tension in and around the capital. It had seemed prudent to relocate his interests elsewhere for the time being. He had been right, of course. The King’s visit to Terrasen had quietly turned to bloodshed overnight. Anyone who strayed from his ideal would be dealt with. Arobynn didn’t feel like having to scout out an entire new guild, or spend his gold bribing the palace idiots to stay away.

  
It was as he thought of his clever decision to take a countryside vacation that Arobynn’s eye was caught by a peculiar shape in the distance. He squinted as he urged his mount quietly forward.

  
Soon he could make out that it was a body - most likely drowned in the river and washed ashore. He nearly steered his horse away from the bank, not feeling like having the smell of a rotting corpse assault his senses, until he saw that the body was that of a child.

  
Not only a child - a young girl. With golden hair.

  
It didn’t take a genius to consider the odds. The morning after the royal family’s slaughter, the young princess only presumed dead, and a body appears along the river Florine, so close to the family’s country home…

  
Arobynn dismounted silently, and approached the body.

  
She was alive; he could see the movements from her breathing. Fair skin turned blue with cold, golden hair drenched and frosted in the morning air; her clothes were of fine make, if muddy and torn. A pretty thing, with soft features and -  
And the royal seal hanging around her thin neck.

  
Arobynn sucked in a silent breath. It was Aelin Galathynius.

  
Mind reeling with possibilities, Arobynn unlatched the chain and slipped the amulet away from the girl’s body. It was warm, despite the cold. What a treasure he had found. Though not quite as valuable as the treasure before him.

  
The heir to the throne before him. So many options! he thought. The King of Adarlan would pay a handsome sum, even if that seemed a rather unexciting prospect. Perhaps Clarisse could use a new protege; a princess was sure to bring in clientele…

  
The girl moved, and a soft sound escaped her lips.

  
Arobynn tucked the amulet into his pocket, and began to unfasten his cloak as the girl stirred. Her chest rose and fell quickly as he wrapped the thick fabric around her frozen form, and her eyelids began to flicker open.

  
By the wyrd, those eyes; the softest turquoise blue ringed with molten gold… Eyes that stole your breath and could break the heart of any mortal man. A jewel of immeasurable worth. Those eyes - and the girl they said had wildfire in her veins. A treasure and a weapon, beautiful and deadly all in one. A jewel befitting the King of Assassins.

  
In that moment Arobynn came to a decision.

  
Aelin Galathynius would be his, or she would die. From this moment on, she belonged to him. Abandoned by her people, here he had found her, and here he lay his claim. This small thing, half drowned in the river, he would make his own. He would raise her; mentor her, mold her to his design. His. All his. This girl. This weapon. This secret. It would all belong to him.

  
Those eyes dilated into focus, and the girl launched backward instinctively. Good, she had some self preservation already instituted in her, despite a pampered upbringing. Arobynn studied her carefully. She was trembling, her teeth chattering and face formed in a snarl - defiant and terrified at the same time.  
“Who are you?” she demanded. Arobynn hid a smile. He raised his hands before him, his gloved fingers as light and unoffensive as could be.

  
“You need not be afraid, child,” he said softly. “I intend you no harm.”

  
“Who are you!” she said again, louder this time than before, though her voice still shook.

  
Arobynn lowered his hands and indicated to himself, movements slow. He knew how to secure a person’s trust, no matter the situation. “My name is Arobynn Hammel,” he answered. “I was riding by and came upon you, unconscious on the riverside. These are dangerous days, little one.”

  
The fallen princess’s eyes grew dark. “I know.” She snapped her head back up to meet his eyes. “And don’t call me little. I don’t want your pity. I’m not weak.”  
Of course you are, Arobynn thought. Your anger is your mask. You are afraid, and that fear is the key to owning you.

  
“I can’t imagine someone who survived the rapids of the Florine to be weak,” he said instead. He made his voice a lull, sweet and disarmingly honest. He was the King for several reasons. His skill in manipulation only one of them. “But since I must call you something, may I ask you in return who you are?”

  
Again, her face darkened, and she turned her head away. Her cheeks reddened and a small sniff told him she was fighting tears. He was patient until she murmured quietly, “I’m no one.”

  
Arobynn watched, observed. No one. There. Another weakness. The little princess was angry - an easier emotion than sorrow or fear - and she was ashamed. She did not wish anyone to know who she was, or where she came from. If she had, she would have told him who she was and to bring her to her people, or would have told some clever lie so he would deliver her safely. She didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to be restored to her throne.

  
Perfect.

  
Arobynn made his eyes sad, and let an invisible weight fall over him. “I… understand,” he said, “What it is, to bear the burden of a name.” His voice grew hushed. “I know what it is to be no one… so that you may become someone new.”

  
The princess slowly raised her head, chin in the air. She was too proud to allow herself to fully give in to his kind words. “What do you know of it?” she said, teeth still chattering in the cold. Arobynn rose to his feet, slowly, and went to his horse. He pulled the blanket from the animal, warm with its body heat, and returned to kneel beside his new discovery. She flinched slightly as he pulled the blanket around her.

  
“I know that I have more now than I have ever had in my life. I came from nothing, and now i have - I am - everything.” He could see the wheels turning in her head already. “I admire your strength. I was so lost when I was your age.”

Aelin looked like she wanted to speak, but stared at the ground instead.

  
“Your strength is your greatest asset, dear one. It will be your survival… if you can learn to control it.”

  
That small head of golden hair raised a fraction. “How… would I do that?”

  
Arobynn pursed his lips, pretending to think. “I suppose… if you have no family to return to…”

  
“They’re dead.” she said flatly.

  
Arobynn paused a moment, as if this news affected him. “You have choices.” He leaned back on his heals. “There are many routes to survival. None are particularly easy. Young boys give themselves over to become soldiers in return for one hot meal a day, girls will se-“

  
“I know what lost girls will do,” the princess snapped, her eyes alight with fury. “I’m no whore.”

  
Arobynn’s mind danced with laughter. “Oh you do have a fire in you!” She flinched slightly, and he softened his touch. “I would never suggest you follow that path - you are better than that, dear one. I can see that much. Though… the path I chose is one which many look down upon. But you see, I am a happy, comfortable, and rather wealthy man enjoying all the gifts of life. It is, in my opinion, the best path to choose.”

  
The girl looked him in the eye now, curiosity burning in her. “What path did you choose?”

  
Now.

  
“I am an assassin.”

  
She drew back. “What?” she hissed.

  
“I am an assassin,” he repeated. “But before you judge me too harshly, let me tell you that I do not kill for pleasure, or simply for money. I only take the lives that have done irreparable damage to others.”

  
It was quiet for a moment. “Irreparable damage?”

  
Arobynn took a calculated breath. “Murderers, rapists, sadists, slave traders… those who kill innocents simply for being different… for their name or their heritage…”  
Blue and gold eyes narrowed.

  
“There are people in this world who deserve to live, and those who violate that right. I simply make a profit by weeding out the latter.”

  
Blue lips pursed, but those eyes softened, grew contemplative. Arobynn waited.

  
The wind around them howled, like a cry from the people of Terrasen begging their princess not to turn away. The King of Assassins knew their pleas were futile. Here was a blank slate - something so damaged, lost, and scared, that it would bend whichever way he pleased. And oh how he would relish in the exclusivity of his secret.  
Arobynn waited. A viper, his prey caught in his gaze, waiting to strike.

  
“You’ll teach me… to kill?”

  
Arobynn couldn’t help the twitch in the upper corner of his mouth. “I’ll teach you to survive. You’ll be safe, comfortable… in luxury.”

  
The girl’s breathing was shallow. “Why would you do that for me?” She couldn’t meet his gaze.

  
“Because I see something special in you,” said Arobynn. “Because if I could do one redeeming thing in my life, I feel that it should be you.”

  
For one second more, the would-be-queen thought. And then she was gone.

  
“Okay.”

***

“The Summer Keep is near another hour East,” Arobynn told the child in front of him. “A view of the sea, surrounded by sweeping hills. We will stay there until things calm down in the capital.”

  
The girl remained silent. She hadn’t said a word since she had mounted the horse. Arobynn was glad for it. He didn’t like chatty children. Actually, he didn’t like any children. He raised assassins. That was what Sam was. An assassin in training. And that was what this girl would be; an assassin. His protege. He would tell the others, and there would be no dispute. This one was his.

  
“Before we arrive, I would like you to have a name. You may choose whatever name you wish. But you may not change it again.”  
She only nodded her understanding.

“Good girl.”

  
The journey continued on in near silence. The girl was stoic, proud with her chin raised. Arobynn smirked. Ah yes, this would do nicely.

  
They passed through the mountains quietly, keeping close to the tree line so as to avoid any unsavory interactions. Occasionally, Arobynn would give instruction. Covering tracks, avoiding main roads and the like. She would nod in silence, accepting the information without question. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she would listen to every word he said.

  
He would give her a test, he decided. She needed to prove her loyalty, her obedience, or be taught. Within a mile of the Keep, surrounded by hills and coming to a crystal clear lake, Arobynn pulled the reigns and duck his heels into the horse’s sides. “We’re dismounting.”

  
With his feet on the ground, Arobynn held out a hand to the girl. She looked at his hand for a moment, and jumped off the horse alone. Arobynn raised his brows.  
“If I’m going to survive, I should be able to get off a horse myself.” she said.

  
Arobynn grinned.

  
“Now,” he pointed to a small formation of rocks along the edge of the water. “I would like you to go sit in the shadow of those rocks. I must run an errand best completed alone. Do you understand?”

  
“Yes,” she answered, and turned to go.

  
“Wait.”

  
She turned.

  
“Have you chosen?”

  
He didn't need to specify.

  
“I think so,” her hands formed fists at her sides.

  
“You will tell me when I return.”

  
She nodded once more before walking toward the rocks.

  
Arobynn made quick of his errand, traveling quickly over the hills to the hamlet he’d purchased his hunt of the previous evening. He spoke to the same, sad excuse for a guard he had the day before, and scrounged up another low life. A truly low life this time. He needed this one to confess. She would need the proper encouragement. The vermin walked alongside the horse with his hands tied before him, occasionally making idle death threats. Oh, if only he knew the number of ways in which Arobynn could make him suffer…

  
But alas, this one was for the girl.

  
She was sitting exactly where he had told her to; invisible to any passerby who might wander through. She didn’t move until he stood within her sights, beckoning her forward. She rose gracefully, and strode toward him without a hint of expression on her youthful face. She looked ghostly, the grey morning light and wind whipping through her hair - clothes torn and dirty blowing around her knees, blankets falling off her small form.

  
“What the fuck is this?” growled the prisoner, watching the ghostly girl as she approached.

  
“Watch your tongue,” Arobynn said, a deadly calm coating every syllable. The girl stopped before him, silently waiting for instruction despite the curiosity in her eyes. Arobynn gestured to the grime covered man. “Your first task,” he told her. She raised a brow. He turned to look at the man. “What are your crimes?”  
“I ain’t fuckin’ telling you shittin’ cunts.” He spat on the ground.

  
Arobynn sighed through his nose and pulled a dagger from within his sleeve - small, but sharp enough to slice through an artery with the smallest pressure. He held it at eye level with the man, dangerously close to his socket.

  
The prisoner sneered, but spoke. “They charged me with -“

  
“No,” Arobynn stopped him. “You are guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. Admit to your misdeeds.”

  
“Fine,” he snapped, spit flying from his mouth and giving them a good look at his rotted teeth. He met the little girl’s eyes as he answered. “I rape pretty little girls like you,” he snarled. She flinched minutely, but kept her eyes on him. Blue and gold burned with fury. “I find them and take them someplace no one can hear their screams. I cut up their pretty faces while I do it, using the blood running off their bodies to help me along. I tie them up and leave them for their families to find. Sometimes they bleed to death before they’re found. Others, I relish the sound of the screams from their nightmares—”

  
Arobynn brought the dagger closer to the man, and he shut his mouth, still starting at the girl like he would devour her. She met Arobynn’s gaze, a sickened fury painting her delicate features. “This one likes to talk.” Arobynn told her. He used his free hand to reach into his tunic, revealing a bejeweled dagger of white gold and embedded with emeralds.

  
He held it out to her.

  
She swallowed, but took the weapon in her hands. She looked back to the prisoner.

  
“On your knees,” Arobynn commanded, kicking the back of the rapist’s legs and forcing him to bend. He landed with a huff. The girl didn’t take her eyes off of him, a slight tremble in her limbs that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with her growing rage. “This is your task,” Arobynn murmured. “End his life.”  
The girl’s eyes flashed. “What?”

  
Arobynn breathed calmly. “End his life.”

  
“Isn’t that the job of an executioner?”

  
“It is the job that befalls anyone given the opportunity to rid the world of his filth.” She continued to look him in the eye with an almost unnerving scrutiny. But Arobynn was used to scrutiny. Cold wind blew, not loud enough to mute the haggard breathing of the prisoner on his knees. “This is your task,” he said a moment later. “Tell me you do not wish it, and you may leave.”

  
Some resolve flickered in her bright eyes then. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the elegant weapon and her jaw set. With the dagger poised carefully in her small hands, the girl moved toward the prisoner. She circled him, observing him. After a moment, she stopped behind him. She took hold of his head, bending it roughly to the side. She looked up at Arobynn, waiting for the final command.

  
“What is your name?” Arobynn whispered the question as she brought the dagger to the man’s neck. The man was squirmed, but she pressed the dagger closer. Her magnificent eyes danced with a wild blue flame as she pressed hard enough to draw the first drops of blood.

  
“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered, dragging the knife across the man’s neck. Blood began to flow, the body spasmed more and more, arterial spray shot just enough to mar the princess-turned-killer’s face. Arobynn smiled, watching the transformation.

  
When the last lick of life had left the useless thing, Celaena Sardothien shoved the corpse away from her too-small frame. She wiped the blood from her face with the back of her sleeve, and turned to the King of Assassins before her.

  
“Can we go home now?”


End file.
